One day, while driving my eldest son home from swimming, I crashed into the back of another car. It was completely my fault. A moment’s daydreaming – that’s all it took. Thankfully no one was hurt.
Even so, I was racked with guilt and found myself obsessing over how much worse things could have been. My son had been with me, and two people were in the other car. What if my carelessness had hurt someone? I felt like an idiot, and my self-esteem sank quicker than I’d ever imagined possible.
As hard as the experience was, I promised myself I’d use it as inspiration for my next book. And while coming to terms with what happened, one thing really struck me: how much it helped to talk.
I’d tried hard to deal with my guilt. I punished myself by not seeing friends, and googled car crashes every day, searching for statistics that might make me feel better. I knew I was overreacting but I couldn’t help it.
But nothing worked like talking to people. When I grumbled to my family and friends, they reassured me and offered love and perspective. They’d listen and nod, sharing stories of how they’d been through similar things.
Sharing through talking can be so helpful. It allows you to see that you’re not alone, and that making a mistake doesn’t make you a bad person. The kindness of others makes you kinder to yourself.
Openness. Communication. Empathy. Connection. These are so crucial for getting us over life’s bumps.
On the flip side there’s refusing to talk about your problems; avoiding difficult emotions and not telling others the truth about how you feel. But trying to cope alone and keeping your worries bottled up can make you feel worse in the long run.
So, that’s what I decided to write about. And with that in mind, The Memory Thieves took shape.
Ignoring negative feelings can be tempting, of course. And when you’re suffering, there’s a lot to be said for escape and distraction. But hiding away isn’t always ideal, so I developed a setting that allowed me to explore its risks. It made sense to use a faraway island, and this became the Island of Elsewhere: a place that promises the purest escape, even from the memory of your old life.
Like many authors, I’m a magpie. I gathered trinkets and ideas and combined them to create the island and its Elsewhere Sanctuary. Many ideas came while holidaying on the Yorkshire coast with my family – while losing my bearings, for example, in the back corridors of Scarborough’s Grand Hotel, and realizing how getting lost might help those who want to lose themselves. Or researching not only New York’s Maritime Hotel, but also sliding puzzle cubes, and combining the two into a building that regularly shifts so its residents never quite know where they are. A building with no hands on its clocks, so that time is as vague as space.
I also remember watching the tide leave the coastal town of Staithes and wondering what it would be like if it never came back. It felt like a fitting symbol for a place of disconnection and separation from emotions, so I drew inspiration from the Aral Sea – a huge lake that’s been shrinking for decades, leaving boats stranded on its dunes.
I magpied other things too. Stylings from an old 60s TV show called The Prisoner. Genuine experimental methods being used to alter memories. The Costa Concordia – a cruise ship that sank before being raised from the sea. And then I added the novel’s central characters: some plucky but troubled teens, and a sinister doctor.
What I ended up with was The Memory Thieves. Lemonade from lemons. The silver lining on my car’s crumpled bonnet.
I hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. But most of all, I hope it inspires you to talk about your doubts and fears, to let out your feelings, and to be kind to others when they do the same.
Showing weakness is one of the bravest things anyone can do.
Darren Simpson, 2021
At the heart of The Memory Thieves is a message of hope: that everyone feels emotions they find difficult, and that we all experience events that make us sad, angry or scared. This book is a reminder that we are all capable of dealing with negative experiences and, with the support and help of friends and family, need not be afraid of sharing those experiences, and finding our way back to happiness.
Here are some exercises and talking points, devised by a psychologist who specialises in helping young people through challenging experiences and emotions. We hope these will help you open up and talk about your feelings, too. You can do these exercises with friends, or with your parents, guardians, or other family members.
• Make a list of some of the feelings or emotions you have experienced. We’ll start with some obvious ones, but can you think of some others? For example, happiness, sadness, worry, excitement.
• Pick one of the feelings you have listed. Can you remember what you notice about yourself when you are feeling this way? What does your body feel like? What do other people notice about you when you are experiencing that emotion? Can you think about how it makes you feel when you realize someone else is experiencing that emotion?
• Who are the people you can talk to about your emotions? Think about the adults in your life you trust and feel safe and comfortable talking about tricky feelings with. For example, parents, older siblings, uncles and aunts, cousins, grandparents and teachers.
• It’s always okay to have feelings, and all feelings are important. Sometimes it can be useful to think about ways we can let people know how we are feeling. Consider the emotions you have listed, and think about how you might communicate you are experiencing these, especially if that feeling is bothering you.
• Sometimes it’s easiest to just say how you feel, for example; “I feel frustrated”. Sometimes you might want to write your feelings down. Sometimes you might want to draw an angry face and stick it on the fridge. Or perhaps you just want to run around outside and feel free. You might even be tempted to dance!
• If you’re doing these exercises with a grown-up, what would you like them to do when you tell them about your feelings?
Share the following text with a grown-up.
Grown-ups, as your young reader considers each of their feelings, can you help them to think about the physical things they notice about themselves when they are experiencing that feeling? Share with them what you notice about them when they are feeling a certain way. Tell them how certain emotions make you feel and behave too.
And grown-ups, sometimes our young people just want us to listen to them and remind them that it’s okay to feel that way. Sometimes they want help to feel more calm. Sometimes they want help to work out what to do. And sometimes, something can’t be fixed or changed, and it just has to be accepted. And that’s okay, too.
• Sometimes feelings can get so tricky, or so big, that you and your grown-up might need help from trained psychologists or doctors. (Don’t worry, they won’t be like Dr Haven!) These doctors are specially trained, and have rules that they must follow in order to help you. In most cases, this help comes in the form of talking about your feelings, and coming up with ways of dealing with them. Sometimes, children might need medication as part of their treatment (and don’t worry, it’s nothing like the pills in The Memory Thieves!).
• Above all, if you have a feeling, a memory or a thought that is upsetting you, whatever it is, have a think about it, notice it, and share it by talking with a loved one. It’s the best way to get to know yourself, each other, and your feelings.
1. Think about the power of names in the novel. How might the residents be affected by having their real names replaced with colours? Do the names of the adult characters give any clues about their roles in the story?
2. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you.” Do you think this saying is true? Is it true for the characters in The Memory Thieves?
3. Look up the word “sanctuary” in a dictionary. Do you think the Elsewhere Sanctuary deserves its name? If not, what would you call it and why?
4. Look at the beginning of the novel. How does Darren Simpson create a sense of place in The Memory Thieves? How does this hel
p to prepare the reader for the story to come?
5. “We don’t do time here.” Why do you think Dr Haven has removed all sense of time from the residents of the Elsewhere Sanctuary? How do you think you would cope in a world where you never knew the time?
6. Think about the nautical references in The Memory Thieves – the anchor logo, the greeting “ahoy!”, the doffing of imaginary sailors’ hats, the Serenity. Why do you think the author has chosen to include these? Consider the significance of the ocean in the novel.
7. What do you think happens to Cyan and his friends after the end of the novel? How might they cope with going back to “the real world”, and learning about their pasts?
8. How does the author portray the character of Dr Haven in The Memory Thieves? What do you think makes for a good villain in a story?
9. Look at the passage in Dose Nine, showing the memories Ruth McMurphy recorded on the Serenity. Why do you think she chose these details to write down? If you could only save a few memories, what would they be?
10. What genre, or mix of genres, best describes The Memory Thieves, and why?
11. Have you read Darren Simpson’s author’s note? In it, he explains that he wrote The Memory Thieves after a car accident made him realize the importance of talking about your problems. How does this theme appear in the novel?
12. “Can you imagine how much people will pay to have their worst memories removed?” If the Lethe Method was possible, do you think people would actually pay for it? Would you?
13. Other than strobe therapy and medication, what measures are used at the Sanctuary to disorientate residents? How do you think these things impact the children’s memories?
14. Compare the first and last reconfigurations in the book. How does this turn from something that seems like a fun adventure, into something more sinister?
15. Turn to the very end of the novel and reread it. How did you feel while reading this ending? Why do you think the author chose to end the story at this point?
I’m so blessed to have my scribblings end up in your hands, dear reader, and would like to thank the following people not only for supporting me, but also for making the world a brighter place. Soppy, I know, and the cheese-fest that follows will induce much further retching. But I mean every word.
Eternal thanks to Wanda, my wonderful wife – my anchor and my buoy. Times have been strange, but it says a lot that they’ve brought us even closer. Thank you, Wanda, for the faith you’ve always had in me.
And thank you to Oskar and Charlie, who constantly amuse and amaze me. You boys know I’m joking when I say you’re only cute when you’re asleep; I adore you every moment of every day.
Sending love and gratitude to my mum and dad, Sue and Graham, for being awesome parents and equally awesome grandparents. Love also to Elvis, Kelly and Graham, to their sidekicks and spawnlings, and to my wider family and in-laws. One more Salmiakki, Erhard?
Thanks to Ol Bailey, The Memory Thieves’ first ever young reader, for their honesty, thoroughness and enthusiasm. I couldn’t have asked for a better guinea pig.
I can’t thank my agent, Laura Susijn, enough. Thank you, Laura, for sticking with me when waters were choppy, and for always having my back.
High-fives (up above) to Stephanie King, my editor extraordinaire, for truly understanding my stories, and for bringing out the best in what I do. You make coal into diamonds, Stephanie!
And high fives (down below) to Sarah Stewart for editing prowess and quality control.
Throwing further high-fives in the direction of Jenny Glencross for her kind words and copyedits, to Charlotte Forfieh and Alice Moloney for their meticulous proofreading (and for those shrewd discussion points, Alice!), and to Sarah Cronin for her very elegant typesetting.
Deep gratitude goes to Usborne’s Publicity Manager, Kat Jovanovic, for her patience and counsel while I got to grips with this author malarkey. And thanks to Jessica Feichtlbauer and Joanna Olney for the fanfare and ballyhoo.
Thank you to Matt Saunders for capturing the Island of Elsewhere so atmospherically on this book’s cover, and to Will Steele for his sterling taste and art direction.
Giddy whoops go out to the Class of ’18: Samuel J. Halpin, A.M. Howell and Serena Patel. It’s been a joy to watch you grow, guys. Thanks for all the therapy and laughs.
I’d like to sing the praises of Usborne’s Books at Home posse, who offer more zeal and support than an author could wish for. Special shout-outs to Susannah Hobbs, Dionne Lakey, Charlene Riviere, Sara Sumner and Katy Wedderburn.
To everyone else at Usborne HQ or working with them: thank you! It truly takes a village to raise a novel.
To Dr Aayesha Mulla and Leila Rasheed: I am in your debt. Thank you for your time and expertise, and for giving The Memory Thieves such illuminating sensitivity reads.
I fell into children’s fiction somewhat by accident, and quickly discovered that the kidlit community is one of the best in the world. I’d like to thank all the teachers, librarians, authors, artists, bloggers, reviewers, tweeters, Instagrammers, YouTubers, booksellers, booklovers, charities and champions for the parts they play. Honourable mentions go to Jess Alex, Andrew Bailie, David Barker, Colin Baxter, the Bengaluru Sustainability Forum, Jasbinder Bilan, Resa Boenard, the Book Whisperer (I hope this was worth the wait, Tris!), Alison Brumwell, Jo Clarke, Mariesa Dulak, Christopher Edge, Jonathan Emmett, Empathy Lab, Kitty Empire, Scott Evans, Lily Fae, the Federation of Children’s Book Groups, Sarah Forestwood, Christopher Frost, Lucy Georgeson, James Haddell, Ben Harris, the Honest Bookworm, Emily Landsborough, Inspire Libraries, Tracy Lowe, Mabel (check out those glasses!), Megan Nicholson, Oxford University Press, Kate Poels, the Reading Realm, Read It Daddy, the Rocketship Bookshop, Imogen Russell Williams, Liz Scott, Andy Shepherd, Chris Soul, Tima, Javad Tizmaghz, Samantha Thomas, Carol Williams, Alex Wheatle and VIP Reading.
Yes, the roll call above is absurdly long, but it only scratches the surface. To everyone involved in getting books to young readers: I salute you!
A little closer to home, thank you to Jim Alexander, Phil Formby, Kirsty Fox and Dan Layton of Bees Make Honey, always and forever. An extra ta goes to Dan for his superlative Memory Thieves portraits.
Hugs to my most musical friends, Chris Baldwin, Christophe Dejous, Richard Dytch, Matt Eris, Jason Holt, Neil Johnson, Graham Langley, Neil Marsden, Gavin McFarlane, Kieran O’Riordan and Mark Spivey.
Hello to Sandeep Mahal, Leanne Moden, Matt Turpin and all at Nottingham City of Literature, and to Lynne Towle, Julia Paynton, Marykate McGrath and co of the Literacy Trust’s Read On Nottingham hub. Thank you for promoting Nottingham’s writers and supporting the literacy of its children.
Thanks also to Ross Bradshaw, Pippa Hennessy and the other book sages at Five Leaves Bookshop, and to Polis Loizou and the team at Waterstones Nottingham.
I’m saving my biggest THANK YOU! for all the children and teens I’ve met since starting this journey. Thank you to each and every one of you, for the hope you give me for the future.
One final thing. The idea for The Memory Thieves rose from the debris of a car crash. So thank you, L, for being so gracious after I accidentally hit your car. You were right: it made us stronger.
When the truth hit Bren, it was as cold and hard as the frost on the window: if he didn’t get out of here, he’d die.
It was plain fact. A message to the gut, sent from Bren’s tingling toes and hands. His fingers stung as if being pricked by pins of ice, so he hugged himself and shoved his hands beneath his armpits, trying to stop the shivering. But the harder he squeezed himself, the more he shook.
He’d left school about an hour ago; there was still some daylight outside. But not for long. The February sun was sinking. Its pale light barely made it into the room, oozing through the metal grate that covered the window.
But there was light enough to see. Bren pivoted on the torn, filthy carpet, checking for anything he might have missed, anything that might get him out.
But that was all. There was nothing that could smash through the window. Nothing that could get him through the locked door or even dent its wood.
Bren returned to the window to pound again with his fists – to rap with his knuckles until they bled. He shouted at the glass, crying out for help, though his throat was raw from all the shouting he’d done already.
It was pointless. Even if his voice carried through the double glazing, no one would hear. No one lived on Bradbury Avenue. It was no man’s land. Every terraced house on it was the same. Boarded windows and bricked-up doors. Back gardens full of weeds and litter, nettles and junk.
Bren gave up. His fists left prints on the window, blotching its whorls of spiralling ice. Frost glossed the walls too. The dated floral wallpaper – speckled in places by mould – twinkled in cold, bluish light.
Bren’s woolly gloves were on the floor; he’d taken them off to heave at the door and thump the window. Still shivering, Bren put them on and shuffled back to the door. He knew its lock was jammed but he tried again. He rattled and strained at the handle, pulling and pleading as if the door could hear him, then started kicking with his feet. But the door was too thick. It wouldn’t budge from its frame.
Grunting hoarsely, Bren grabbed his backpack, pulled the mattress to the floor and sat down. He could feel the cold dampness seeping through his school trousers. His stomach ached in a way it had never ached before. He checked his backpack for something to eat, knowing as he rummaged that there was nothing. The food his dad had packed for him that morning was gone; he’d eaten it in the music room at lunchtime.
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